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i'm liam and i write poetry that i feel too pretentious to share with people i know, so i post it all online and feel all fuzzy when strangers press the red heart. if you reblog my work i'd probably pay you back in sexual favors if youd ask because goodness my ego goes shhheww. thats the noise my ego makes when its getting out of hand. -onomatopoeia- which is a word i had to look up to spell by the way. i rhyme and stuff sometimes and sometimes not becaase god nobody rhymes anymore. if you read some of the shit on here it'll be pretty evident how i used to spend most of my time but id appreciate it if you dont think im a dirtbag without sending me a message saying hey are you a dirtbag to which i shall reply no, no i am not a dirtbag and that will clear the whole misconception up and i wont have to post a bunch of bullshit nature poems to try to show off my sensitive side and stuff like that. everything i write i despise within a couple reads because it all sounds so goddamn pretentious (a word ive used twice in thisdescription) in fact this description feels a bit pretentious now that i read it over. (three times) ohwellohwellohwellohwell
7 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

hardy

smoking crack with

penny whore.

funny then, not

anymore.

13 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

to porn

and here is i, the

      furious masturbator

asleep in

              the

  neon-raintree tap of little kisses

that

      is she

-

and here is i, never

      to curl in the strawberry

hair-flip as

               she’ll do

             as

                 you

                       please

but in the weepy

                   needs-the-cash and

                there, she

is forever

14 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

And your brassier is now a ladle

If a mother pumps her nipples with some

machine or

questionable patron, through

infancy and

far

beyond,

they’ll stain a summer’s neglige

regardless of proportion.

                                        for

she was fucking gardeners well

into her 60’s and

no one’s

going

hungry

3 notes
1 year ago - Reblog
Anonymous: do you have any ebooks or paper books or anything where I can give you money for your poems without becoming an old-school patron because I'm not rich enough for that.

im kinda working on it…. i dont really know how to go about it though, it confuses me

91 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

maybe if i were more climactic i wouldnt be so bad in bed

i hope they never really beat me

never rape my wife and

break my bones

i mean

I’ve

broke a couple bones, but

i hope

they

never really do,

-

i hope

they

never really do

anything

at all

-

i pray for a succession

of minor catastrophes

-

the Missus’ll silently irk

though she’ll stick around for something’s sake

and drink herself to sleep

and

i’ll smell disgust,

fuming in a summer clear where i

have made a picnic and she

wont say a word

but she’ll never kill me

never cut my cock off and throw in the lake.

she’ll never burn my house down and

i’ll never bruise her face

-

the poems’ll take me nowhere and

I’ll knock a couple back before

i take the kids to school

and sure,

they’ll stop eating all my lunches

and tell their mother give them money, where

she’ll reach into my pocket when i planned

to buy a book

but they’ll never tie the rope

never steal my rifle and cleanse a quiet preschool

they’ll never drown the cat

and i’ll never pawn their game boy.

-

and this would be ideal,

for

-

if i couldn’t find some purpose 

in writing something about nothing

well,

i wouldn’t write much of anything

at all

34 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

magic

when they dropped me off,

listening to

some shitty song

on the radio and

-

there you were

same station, same

shitty

song,

right where i left off

-

now that,

was magic.

-

shitty magic

19 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

for you, my love

no justice i

could bring to this

and thus, a pen

              in praying

loves you all as

in a mothers mouth’s

a child’s

   saying

93 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

oh doctor

the day is done

oh doctor, i

forgot

about the children,

come now,

write me rubber soles.

could you write me rubber?

their humming rests a fuming pass and

pigs align all

pensive in their acrid shell.

oh doctor,

write them better teeth in

custom, write

them better smell

-

they were laughing in the haul and

i had nothing to defend

and off to boxes

you were born

oh doctor

write me better

friends

29 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

the moor is nodding now

oh man, the

moor is nodding now.

sleep again oh

sleep to sun.

the surface is a

circus now,

the sum of which,

too deep, is done.

37 notes
1 year ago - Reblog

a process

wiser men will

dine tonight

but i have things to

find and fight

and lose for come

the breaking day

and toss until

they fade away